Luck Has Nothing
by Emma CS Me
Summary: I, Logan Echolls, had a bad beginning, and ambiguous middle, and gave up on a happy ending the day I found my best friend's corpse.' AU - Duncan was killed, not Lilly, and it is left to Logan to solve the murder.
1. Entitled to Irrationality

**LUCK HAS NOTHING**

**1: Entitled to Irrationality**

I sat alone at a table, picking at my food. I could still order food, so I didn't have to deal with the nuclear waste they offered the poor kids, but still. I wasn't all that hungry.

I was pretty sure the 09ers could tell I was being pathetic and staring at them again – I always hated it when I caught myself doing that. No point living in the past and assorted cliches.

The 09er table. I used to sit there. After all, I was the son of bigshot movie actor Aaron Echolls; everyone owned Daddy's action figure. They probably still did, given the way they treated me for what I said about him, accused him of. Don't you love Neptune?

Lilly was laughing at something her cronies were saying, shamelessly flipping her hair around and thrusting her chest forward. Lilly Kane, daughter of software billionaire Jake Kane. Loud, sexy, rebellious and humanity's biggest bitch. She believes half of what I say and still treats me like shit stuck to her shoe. That's Lilly for you.

It never used to be like this, of course. She used to be my girlfriend. Off and on since the eighth grade; everyone was always watching when we would self-destruct, then reform. Then we self-destructed for good, so everything changed.

I groaned and buried my head in my hands when I realized the 09ers saw me staring and were heading my way, Lilly leading them. "Heya Logan," she greeted me mock-cheerfully. "Whatcha doing? The staring, is it like, your great big plot to get back into the Rich Kids' Club?"

"Lilly. You know I'd rather shit razor-blades than be in your little club again," I told her with a faux-happy grin.

"Then, y'know, with the staring?"

I shrugged and looked downward, not bothering to come up with a sarcastic reply. "Bad day, Lilly. Bad date."

I looked up again and saw Lilly's features twist a little, but she quickly buried it. "Come on, Logan. It's okay. He's dead, after all – it's not like you have to bother pretending you care anymore," she explained, and I felt a sharp pain between my ribs. Lilly and cronies sauntered away, her work done, and I cursed her in my mind. _Damn her. Damn how she knows exactly where to attack_.

Looking down at my digital watch, I saw the date and time again. September 18th, 2:02 pm. Exactly one year, two hours and fifteen minutes since Duncan died in the middle of my backyard. Fuck Lilly for saying I don't care. I was the one lucky enough to find the body, after all.

_I was standing outside my house, vaguely contemplating going for a swim. In the distance, I saw something – someone – lying on the pavement. Walking a little closer, I recognized it as Duncan. "Hey man, you okay?" I asked, worried (later I would realize how stupid that sounded). Duncan didn't stir._

_I knelt down and tried to shake him awake; he was stiff and his skin was cold. My jaw dropped a little then, and I was left frozen and staring at what had been my best friend._

"_Logan!" I heard my sister's voice call out shrilly, annoyed and confused. "What are you doing out here?" she approached me. She saw Duncan's form and let out a little shrill cry._

"_Call 911," I instructed her, voice dead._

I winced and tried to bury the idea. It was hurt too much to think of DK, of everything that happened after that – no point to going on about the past, after all.

* * *

I always hated gym. I was always one of those people who had to hide when we were changing, and yeah, it was always just to hide the scars. Once, it was that clichéd abuse victim hiding it thing. Now, it's just because I don't want to make myself sick, hearing how my peers would explain it.

After Duncan died, at my house, I was certain my father – the same son of a bitch father that had been beating me black and blue since I was eight years old – had something to do with it, even if I wasn't sure why. I reported this to the local sheriff, he saw the evidence of how Aaron abused me, and believed it. He turned against Aaron Echolls, equally certain he had something to do with his son's best friend's murder. Our old mayor saw the evidence and believed it too.

Neptune weighed what it knew, and easily came down on Daddy Dearest's side. Emergency recall elections were held, instating Sheriff Don Lamb and County Supervisor Woody Goodman, respectively. The 09ers, fronted by Duncan's sister, Lilly (who _knew_ it was true – I had shown up at their house, back bleeding, enough times), gave me, and the former Sheriff's daughter, a choice – take it back, say I made the whole thing up, or become their targets. We chose being bullseyes.

My family, understandably weighed in. I was kicked out of home, although just to improve his image, he bought an apartment for me to live in. Half the people in town said they wouldn't have bothered with that; if I was their son, they'd just let me starve. My sister Trina went on TV and did this whole interview about how Dad was a perfect father, and I was an ungrateful, drunk, drug-addicted piece of shit. The world bought it; hook, line, and sinker.

I exited the change rooms and stood in the gym, avoiding my peers eyes. I usually avoided any interaction with them, when I could. Not like they could come up with an intelligent sentence between them. No such luck today – September 18th, after all.

"Yo, Echolls!" called an 09er – Dick Casablancas, personification of all wrong with them. I sighed. Fuck my luck. "How've you been, bro?" He asked, him and his cronies gathering around me.

"Do you really care? Deeply and truly?" I responded, mockingly pouting my lips. Dick laughed.

"Well, just thought – Dude, DK died a year ago. What are you doing to celebrate? Rip into your dad, take half the skin off your back, fuck his murderer?" Dick questioned me. I swallowed the lump in my throat, and rolled my eyes as the 09ers howled with laughter.

"Yeah, I'll go do that. Once we find her, of course."

They wandered off, merry amongst themselves, and I thought. After the 09ers turned against me and the daughter of the Sheriff – Veronica Mars – Duncan's mother went accusing the most obvious suspect. Veronica had been his girlfriend, and he had broken up with her only a few days before he was killed. Even I would admit, the MO – poisoning – wasn't much my father's style. There was never enough evidence to prosecute, but most of Neptune believed it and wanted her dead. Lilly, as a small mercy, had denied it; saying Veronica was a bitch and a traitor, but she wouldn't kill Duncan. Not that it mattered to the town, not that Lilly would push the fact. Veronica and I banded together, and everyone was pretty sure we were fucking. We weren't, but it didn't matter.

Then that night happened. November 11th.

_Veronica showed up at my apartment door; tipsy, with blood-shot eyes. "Hey Logan," she said, leaning against the door frame._

"_Hey," I said, inviting her in. I took a swig of the beer I was holding."Free hot blonde. Is it my birthday and I didn't notice?"_

_Veronica smiled sadly, and looked away. "No. It's not your birthday," she hesitated. "It's Lilly's."_

_I nodded. "Yeah. I know. Remembrance Day if we lived in like, England or Australia or something," I said, sitting down on my couch. She followed, and we eyed all the moving boxes I hadn't had the energy to unpack._

"_She's having a party... and we're not there," Veronica whispered. I shrugged._

"_Well, she hates us now, so it's understandable."_

_Veronica leaned in closer to me, as if she was confiding a great secret. "This shouldn't be happening," she said._

"_I know."_

_Before I realized it, she was on my lap, softly kissing me. "Wait- Veronica," I said, not really having an end for that sentence. She pulled back._

"_Logan. Please," she rubbed herself against me slightly, and I finally absorbed exactly what she was asking for. Gently, I ran my hand over her cheek._

"_Veronica... are you sure?"_

_She nodded. "Please Logan. Do this for me. Be this for me," there was something broken in her eyes that I was too tired to resist. My lips met hers quickly, and things progressed from there._

_After, she got up and just started dressing herself. "Logan," she said, voice still a little broken. "I think... we should just act like this didn't happen."_

_I nodded, too tired to protest and not sure if I wanted to. "Okay, V."_

_She turned and gave me a wobbly smile. "Bye Logan," she said._

"_Fuck and run, huh?" I asked, but there was no bite in it. "See you, Veronica."_

_She laughed a little and left._

Turned out, I was wrong. I wouldn't see her again, because two days later she and her mother disappeared off the face of the planet. Nobody knew where they went, and in regards to Duncan's murder, that was as much proof as anyone in Neptune needed.

I missed her.

* * *

Chemistry. I had never been good at chemistry, and the only real reason I used to pass it was the fact Duncan – shining straight A Duncan – was my partner, and he did everything. Then he died, thus, so much for that method.

At the start of this year, we got to chose our partners and I had wound up grouped with the other guy in my class that, well, everyone hated. He was our Resident Gay, and he didn't give the already prejudiced 09ers a great impression. Like he cared. We didn't particularly like each other – he was a douche to everyone and I probably was too – but there was an odd camaraderie in how widely we were hated.

"So, what are we doing now?" I asked Peter, who just shrugged.

"Something about an acid. Wasn't really paying attention," he explained not-exactly-usefully. Eventually we figured it out, and did the experiment we were meant to. Then class ended and we left. I heard the 09ers snickering behind my back, like they always were.

"Dude, the Homo and the Psycho!" Dick laughed, loud. "It can be like, a gay sitcom!"

"Yeah, but – which is which?"

My stomach tightened a little and I tried to press the feeling down. Dubious comments on my sexuality were just another thing the 09ers said because they hated me; I'm pretty sure someone who really did everything they said was not physically possible. I wasn't going to think about what they would think of me, why they would think that – it was kind of illogical, connecting all that to homosexuality. What, you want to know all about Logan Echolls' Big Gay Adventure?

...So did I.

I gatecrashed a party at Shelley Pomroy's, a little under a month after Veronica vanished. There wasn't much to do when the whole world hated you; and one of their parties would still have booze, chicks, and easy justifications for drunken brawls. Yeah, I was a moron.

_I was at the party, wandering through crowds of drunk 09ers. A lot of them wouldn't look at me, but I didn't care. Lilly rather obviously looked away when I passed her by, and then returned to sucking face with some guy whose name I couldn't be bothered remembering. Okay, maybe that hurt a little._

_Somehow, a beer wound up in my hand and I didn't really give a second thought before drinking it. Soon, things were swirling and twisting; I was beyond unsteady on my feet – I was hardly inexperienced with alcohol, and this could not possibly be happening from one drink. A panicking sensation settled in my stomach as I continued to watch the 09ers staring and laughing at me, my addled mind registering their expressions as like hyenas'._

_I bumped into a guy whose face was a blur. The unknown guy, obviously wasted, pushed me back and snarled. It was tiny; barely a shove, but it was enough to knock me over. I was falling._

Okay, yes, I was probably an idiot to take that drink, no questions asked. Doesn't justify what happened next.

_When I woke up the next morning, the first thing I thought was:_ Fuck, my ass hurts. _It was truly throbbing, and the next things I thought were that I had no idea where I was, or how I got there. Dreading the truth, I sat up. Head spinning, I managed to acknowledge I was in Shelley Pomroy's guest bedroom, and when I looked down at my chest I could also acknowledge I was naked. _Oh god,_ I thought._

_Shuffling a little, every movement painful, I managed to acknowledge Shelley's white sheets were stained red. Blood was coming out of my anus, mixing with the faint stains of come on the sheets. After a few helpless seconds on trying to keep it in, I threw up._

_Still in pain and dizzy, I was reduced to dry heaves quickly. I shut my eyes tight and tried to remember what happened, finding a giant hole in time. Someone drugged me; I knew that much._

_Trying and failing to suppress sobs, I slowly turned and reached for my clothes on the floor._

I never bothered reporting it. What would be the point? I was already the boy who cried wolf to the town of Neptune, despite all physical evidence otherwise, and I knew Don Lamb. The sheriff would laugh me out of his office if I tried to go forward. Honestly, I couldn't deal with that again. Besides – only girls got raped that way.

Yeah, it was kind of unfair for me to connect all that to the gay thing, given how rape is usually meant to be about power, not sex, but still – I was kind of entitled to some irrationality about that.

* * *

Random locker searches. Not really random, at least not with me, as the Sheriff's department had a pretty clear policy on when they would search my locker – whenever they could. It wasn't really a problem. Even when I did do stuff like that, I was never dumb enough to store anything in my locker (and yeah, why I'd stopped with the party drugs was part fueled by what happened last time I was at a place like that. And because I wanted to prove Trina wrong).

"Why, Deputy," I said. "I swear I know nothing."

Clemmons visibly suppressed his eye-roll. "Mr. Echolls, you mind opening your locker? The deputy here would like to inspect it."

I nodded and obediently entered my combination, flinging the door open with a dramatic "Ta-da!" Then I blinked, and realized that someone had put a bong – in the shape of a cock, for that added kick – in my locker. Well, fuck.

"What's this?" asked Deputy Sacks, even though it was perfectly obvious. I heard a gaggle of 09ers break into laughter behind me, and I turned around to face the pack led by Lilly.

"Funny," I told her. "Funny and charming, Lilly. Remind me, why did we break up?"

She raised her hands in a mocking 'who me?' expression. "What? Why do you think I had something to do with this?" she asked innocently, and I rolled my eyes. The who crowd was engaged in pubescent snickering.

I was dragged down to the Sheriff's department, but it was all over pretty quick. Warning, eye rolls, whatever – it wasn't like the sheriff cared, he just liked pissing me off.

I got back to my apartment eventually, and pulled a beer out the fridge. So far, the new school year was proving exactly like I'd expected – annoying, but I would deal. None of it was ever a surprise. After all, I'd had a bad beginning, an ambiguous middle, and I'd given up on a happy ending the day I found my best friend's corpse.


	2. The Sorority

**LUCK HAS NOTHING**

**2: The Sorority**

I was surfing that morning. Surfing was always a thing of mine; kind of a cliche for a Rich Kid From California, but whatever. There was something clear in it; don't ask me how.

It was dawn and, given that timing, the sight of my sister holding hands with some mystery guy was somewhat unexpected. Since when did Trina ever get up before noon? I tried to ignore her and Unknown Boyfriend, as I always ignored Trina whenever we were unfortunate enough to run into each other. She sold me out; I didn't want to see her again.

Trina also seemed to want to avoid me, but for whatever reason Anonymous Boyfriend was insisting. He indicated towards me and said something to her in hushed tones; I raised an eyebrow and drew myself back to the beach. They waited for me, and I felt a little anxious.

"Hey, little brother," Trina greeted me awkwardly, hand still wrapped around the boyfriend. I really had to learn his name.

"Hi Trina," I said slowly, with a distinct ton of "_Why the fuck are you talking to me?"_ Trina and I hadn't even really seen each other since the debacle with Aaron; after she had gone on national TV and told the world how exactly I was the bad guy. I was justifiably pissed after that.

"Hey," said the boyfriend I didn't know. "I'm Jordan. Jordan Hayes. I'm... Trina's boyfriend."

I nodded. "I gathered as much," I paused. "Hey, I think you're brother goes to my school. Mercer?"

"Yeah," said Jordan. "I think everyone in this town goes to that school, so it's hardly surprising."

I nodded. Mercer Hayes was just another of the 09er douchebags who reveled in making my life hell; although he was a senior, so he I didn't see him as much as the others. I knew he was the son of a judge, and that he had brothers, but I had never met any of them. Except, y'know, for Trina dating on.

"Listen," said Jordan, a little uncomfortable. "Me and Trina are going to go have breakfast, down at that little cafe thing on the beach? You should come with."

"Jordan," hissed Trina, a little too loud. She nudged him with her foot obviously, and I felt a little simmer of rage at how blatantly ashamed of me she was. So I delighted in acting contrary to her wishes.

"Sure," I replied. "Sounds great."

* * *

Breakfast was, not particularly unsurprisingly, awkward. Jordan and Trina tried to make small talk – I obligatorily replied – but we all had to skirt around the issue of my father. Well, they did. I made smug little comments about him, mostly because it was fun to watch Trina's pupils dilate under the pressure of trying not to scream at me.

"So," she said in her most vapid voice. "I think that girl, on the set for Dad's new movie? Totally stalking me. One of those starlets, you know, red hair... can't remember her name."

"They have names now?" I asked. "I just kind of thought, y'know, they came in ready-made boxes for him," I joked. "I am Floozy-GD472, how may I be of service?" I finished in a robotic tone of voice. Jordan laughed a little, but Trina just rolled her eyes.

"Nice. But I swear, she's like, _everywhere_," Trina said. I shrugged.

"Whatever. I gotta see a man about a horse," I excused myself and headed to the bathroom. I did my business there and returned to find my sister and her boyfriend talking, about me.

"This is stupid," Trina told Jordan, pouting. "Why did you make him come with us? Don't I have the right to chop him out of my life, what the 'him stabbing our whole family in the back' thing?"

He sighed in reply. "Trina, I've met your dad and he's not worth shit. I half believe Logan-"

"My dad wouldn't-"

"Besides. Even if he is a lying little shit, he is still your little brother. I want to kill my brother half the time too for the crap he pulls, but I don't just pretend he doesn't exist anymore."

They both paused then, until Jordan cracked a little half-smile. "Besides. If your dad is so wonderful and infallible, then what are we doing with my 'movie'." He made actual, physical air-quotes on the word 'movie', so I inferred that it wasn't a movie in the strictest sense.

Trina grinned. "Oh, Daddy Dear. Always so eager to help his little girl, get her struggling director boyfriend's career off the ground," they both laughed, and I more or less pieced it together. "How much is this film going to take, again?"

Jordan chuckled. "Oh, only two million."

They leaned in for a kiss as I went back to the table, so they separated. "You're conning Dad?" I asked quickly, and Trina flushed red with indignation.

"What?" she asked. "You were eavesdropping?"

"More or less. Now, I have two things to say. One, you're a self-righteous hypocrite. Two, you're nuts."

"What?" Trina bit back defensively. "Were you laboring under the delusion you were still _relevant_ to this family, after your whole betrayal thing?" She raised her voice, drawing the attention of our fellow customers.

"Trina-" Jordan stood and put a hand on her shoulder, but she shook him off. I continued, unthinking towards the fact we were being stared at.

"It doesn't matter. You know Dad. He'll figure it out, and he might punish you a bit worse than keeping you grounded for a few weeks," I told her.

"God, shut up!" she yelled, firmly in denial. "You're the idiot in this family, not me."

I sighed and looked at the resolution in her eyes; the confusion in Jordan's. I felt resigned. "Good luck, Trina," I said before I walked out. I meant it too.

Because vindictive, traitorous bitch or not, Trina was still my sister. I didn't want my dad to hurt her.

* * *

At school, I was irritated, but not all that surprised to find all the air let out of my back tires. It had only been the third time it had happened this week, after all. I sighed and automatically turned to my boot to get a jack and spare, but when I looked closer I saw that it wasn't sealed. It had been forced open, and when I looked inside, all tires and useful tools were gone. I turned around and saw a crowd of the 09ers, led by Dick Casablancas (obviously enough) sniggering at me.

I stood there, staring at my car in irritation for a few seconds. The thing is, when douches slash your tires? Annoying, but quickly fixed. When they slash your tires, steal your other tires and make it so you'll have to get the damn car repaired? That's... a little harder.

I noticed when someone approached me, however. A pretty girl; one of the 09ers that was always nicer than the rest of them. In fact, she had always been criminally nice. We made fun of her for it, back when I was one of them.

"Meg?" I asked her, a little skeptical. She smiled.

"Hey Logan," she said, then she looked down at my car. "Shit. You're not well liked, are you?"

"Really?" I replied dryly, crouching down to inspect the damage to my tires. "Never would have guessed."

"Isn't this like, the second time this has happened to you this week?"

"Third, but who's counting?" I said. "This time, they managed to break into the bot; steal my spares and jack. Makes it all a little bit harder."

Meg nodded and crouched down. "You know, sometimes, I really hate this school."

"You know, always, I really hate this school," I parroted. She smiled.

"I've got spares and a jack; you can use them. I'm hardly target practice around here; you need them more than I do."

I grinned a little. "This all feels very reactionary-against-gender-roles," I joked, and she laughed. "St. Meg to the rescue. Why am I even surprised?"

We stood, and she led me to her car. "Here," she said, handing me one of the tires. "I am not being the mule with these things."

We carried them back, only to be interrupted by a rather snooty _a-hem_. We turned, to see Lilly and favorite henchwoman, Madison Sinclair, looking at us with eyebrows raised.

"Well, gosh ladies," I started automatically. "I know I'm devastatingly sexy, but you could have a little more self-control than to just gape at me in the middle of the parking lot. For shame, women. For shame."

Lilly rolled her eyes and Madison gave me a disbelieving look. "Meg," Lilly addressed the blonde to my side. "What are you doing?"

Meg's posture hardened defensively, and I just _knew_ they were unhappy she dared to talk to me. "Helping Logan with a flat," she said blankly. Lilly and Madison wore dubious expressions.

"Uh," started Madison. "We were _meant_ to go shopping," she said, not making the cue particularly subtle. Meg just shrugged it off, however.

"Yeah, in a second. Once this is done."

Lilly threw her hands up. "Forget it. We'll go alone."

They stormed off then, and I looked back at Meg. "Sorry. Must remember how widely you people hate me. Hopefully, they won't do the same to you."

She shrugged. "They'll get over it. Everyone thinks I'm too damn nice to everyone anyway; that includes resident Psycho Boy."

I smiled and we dragged her stuff back to my car. "Thanks," I told her.

"Don't mention it," she said, then she left.

* * *

At home that night, I had a dream. All Martin Luther King jokes aside; this dream was kind of creepy and important.

It started with me in a dark, dim cavern; blue crystal glowing around my neck. I looked up and felt dizzy; I was lost, although my settings seemed familiar somehow. I turned to hear footsteps approaching me from behind, and soon a figure emerged from the darkness.

A figure clad in his soccer uniform; pale as death – due to the being dead thing – yet wearing an amused grin. "Duncan?" I asked him.

"Yeah. How've you been, Echolls?"

"Shit," I said bluntly. "What's going on? Where are we?"

He furrowed his brow. "You don't remember this?" He asked, tapping a finger on the wall. "Oh well. It was crap, and like, five years ago. So I can't really blame you."

I looked around and suddenly realized where I was. This was level one of a video game I used to own, back when I was twelve. It was boring as hell, and neither Duncan or I could ever win at it. Eventually, I accidentally-on-purpose smashed the disc in frustration. Dad put a cigarette out on my hand for that (and my dad didn't even smoke), but that wasn't exactly a surprise,

"Oh. Yeah. Now I remember," I said, sitting down on the ground. Idly, my fingers played with the crystal around my neck, as Duncan sat next to me.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him, and he chuckled.

"Dude, I am dead. Why would I be here?"

"To impart important and meaningful advice?"

"Got it in one," he answered. "You're lost, Echolls."

"Like you didn't always fail at this game too? Besides, it's dark."

He shook his head. "I wasn't talking about the game. Although it's kind of a nice metaphor," he said, and I had kind of figured that out. "The thing is – Aaron killed me. You know that. You tried to punish him for it, a year ago."

I shook my head. "And?"

"Listen man," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I know you've been through hell. I wish I was here to help you through it, make no jokes about how gay that is. But you've forgotten what you need to do; what you need to do for me. Aaron is, after all, still out there."

I looked him in the eye. "I tried. I tried and it didn't work. So what am I meant to do?" I asked. He shrugged.

"Get more evidence?" he said. "I don't know. I just really don't want my murderer prancing about free for the rest of eternity... or however long he lives, I don't know."

I nodded. "I miss you, man," I whispered, and there was a pause. "You tell anyone I said that, you're dead."

Duncan furrowed his brow and laughed. "I'm already dead, you know."

"Okay, good point."

"Besides, given I'm just a figment of your subconscious, who _exactly_ am I going to tell?"

"Dude, shut up."

* * *

I awoke to hear someone pounding on my front door like they were being followed by mutant killer zombies. Eyes bleary, I turned to my clock to find it was precisely 3:28 AM. I groaned; who the hell was waking me up at half-past three in the morning?

Irritated, I dragged myself to the front door. Swinging it open, I had to suppress a gasp. There was Trina; and she looked like shit.

She was leaning against the doorframe unsteadily, as if she couldn't walk. Her face and arms were covered in bruises; tears dripped from her eyes. She looked like she had been beaten, and cried for hours.

"Trina?" I said, taking her hand to lead her in, all trace of sarcasm gone. "What happened?" I asked, even though I already had a pretty solid idea.

"Dad found out about the con," she confirmed my suspicions in a broken voice, before collapsing on my couch. I sat with her. "Logan, I... I've never seen him like that. He was _so_ angry, I just..."

I bit my bottom lip. "I have," I whispered, and I saw something like guilt flicker in my sister's eyes. She didn't respond, however.

I looked at Trina's broken frame for a little, and suddenly I started to get it:

Aaron Echolls hurt my sister.

Aaron Echolls hurt everyone I ever loved.

Aaron Echolls killed my best friend.

Aaron Echolls hurt _me_.

Aaron Echolls would pay.


	3. Knowledge is Power

**LUCK HAS NOTHING**

**3: Knowledge is Power**

I let Trina sleep on my couch that night. She didn't want to leave, to go to a hotel, she _definitely _wouldn't go back home... staying with me was the only option.

In the morning, I was surprised to hear _more_ banging on my door. Whoever was there was loud and impatient; I winced as I walked over and opened it for them. I found myself face to face with Jordan Hayes, wearing a rather vicious black eye. Probably should have seen that one coming.

"Is Trina here?" he asked, not waiting for an answer, or for me to invite him in. He barged through me, and I took a moment to see that, for whatever reason, he had dragged his little brother along with him. Mercer looked at him exasperatedly, then turned to me and gave an "_I don't get it either_" smile.

"Trina?" Jordan called out. "Are you here?"

The aforementioned raised herself to look at her boyfriend, bruises somehow looking _even worse_ in the morning light. "Jordan?" she asked, and they quickly ran into a hug. He pulled back over a few seconds and asked. "I got your call. Took me forever to figure out where you'd go."

"He kept me up all that," chimed in Mercer with a tinge of irritation. Then he paused and blinked. "Wow. There's a sentence that can be taken a few ways."

"Mercer-" Jordan warned in that tone that told me Jordan got annoyed with the Littlest Hayes a lot.

"Just saying," Mercer concluded and I smiled. Trina turned back to Jordan, and looked at his black eye.

"What you heard... You went after him, didn't you?"

"That's also a sentence that can be taken a few ways," I murmured, and Trina and Jordan both looked at me with a patented sibling "_Shut up, asshole"_ look.

Mercer nodded. "I'm a bad influence."

Trina sighed, and turned back to Jordan. "You're an idiot, you know that? What is Dad had, I don't know, hurt you badly?" she asked.

"Like he hurt you?" he said, gently caressing her bruises. She looked down. "It doesn't matter. Besides, I thought you'd like the whole knight in shining armor thing."

"Knights in shining armor don't get beat up," she replied, smiling.

"So was there any point to this expedition of ours?" interrupted Mercer. You good practically hear a record scratching.

"Wow," I said. "You love this killing the mood thing, don't you?"

He shrugged. "It's a hobby."

Jordan wore that long-suffering look again. "Well, I wanted to make sure my girlfriend didn't get beaten to death. Sorry."

"So why'd you drag me here?" he asked. It was a valid question.

Jordan shrugged. "I don't really know. Seems like a good idea when it's 2 AM and and you haven't slept at all, and you're stressed out of your mind trying to find your girlfriend and figure out what happened to her."

"Cute," said Mercer. "God, you make me gag."

"Would that make you shut up?"

"Probably not."

I just stood there for a bit, waiting. "So... are you people going to do anything while you're here, or is this just pointless?"

Trina smacked me on the arm. "You don't like it, you can leave."

"It is my apartment."

"Only 'cause Dad is paying for it."

"Because he's such a swell, stand-up guy?"

She flinched, and I felt a little guilty. Jordan winced a little bit as well, but Mercer just looked bored. There was an awkward silence as I weighed up what on Earth I could say after that.

Mercer beat me to it. "Okay, whatever. Can we go? I haven't slept for just under a day; I'm gonna start hitting things soon."

Jordan rolled his eyes. "Okay, whatever," he said, and bent down to kiss Trina on the lips. "I'll call you, okay? Be safe."

"You too," she replied with saccharine sweetness. Mercer and I shared eye-rolls.

Then the Hayes left, and Trina and I were alone in my apartment. I heard the sound of a car, and decided that there was no use putting it off – I had something to do.

"Where are you going?" asked Trina as I grabbed for my stuff and car keys.

"Out."

* * *

_Mars Investigations_. It had been a while since I was there. After Duncan died, but before Veronica disappeared, I spent a lot of time there – Veronica was, after all, the only friend I had left. Former Sheriff Mars had been one of the only people to believe me about my father; I appreciated and respected him for that. Lianne turned to drinking during the whole investigation, but she was always sweet – I had grown up with a drunk mom myself, after all.

However, after the Mars women vanished, Keith and I didn't see each other much. The major reason I ran into him – Veronica – was gone, and dealing with each other became a little bit painful. Plus, there was that "I slept with your daughter" awkwardness.

But now, I needed to talk to him. I entered the office to see – surprisingly – a girl I knew sitting at the desk.

"Carrie Bishop?" I asked, dubious and amused tone in my voice. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"It's called a job, Logan," she said snootily. "It's what you do when your parents don't pay for every little thing, however undeserving you may be."

My palm clenched, but I forced my trademark sardonic grin to the surface anyway. "Of course. You're a starving peasant child; you're parents could never afford to care for you properly," she and I both knew her father was second-in-command at Kane Software; they were millionaires.

"My parents are big on the responsibility thing."

"Ah," I said, then paused. "Anyway, I need to see Mr. Mars?"

"Go right on in," she replied, and I did so. Keith blinked a few times when he saw me, almost disbelieving.

"Logan?"

I smirked. "What, you were expecting Sidney Poitier?"

He shook his head and laughed a little. "No... it's just..."

"We both went all Chuck Cunningham to each other, I know," I said, dancing around the issue.

"So... what can I do for you, Logan?"

So much for dancing around the issue.

I sighed. "It's... it's about Duncan," we both paused.

"What about him?" Keith asked, keeping his voice distinctly flat.

"I was hoping you'd tell me that."

"Logan-"

"Don't," I warned, not even that sure what he was going to say. "I need to know more about the case. What happened. No-one knows the full story; the killer's still at large."

"Logan, it's ugly," said Keith, sounding defeated. "You have been through more than one kid your age... or anyone ever... could possibly need to go through. I want thoughts of Duncan's murder out of your head; I'm not going to pour more in."

"Well that's sweet, and parental-substitute-like, but it doesn't really work that way. Look, we both think Aaron did it. The whole of Neptune thinks _Veronica_ did it, and we both know that's just crazy," I said, and I saw Keith's hand grip a little firmer on the desk. "The bastard should pay."

Keith looked quizzical. "Why are you asking me this now? Why not when I was investigating, after Lianne and Veronica vanished, just _earlier_?"

I sighed. "Trina. She tried to fleece Aaron, 'cause she's an idiot... He found out. She's sheltering with me right now; she's bruised like..." I trailed off. Keith looked sympathetic.

"I'm sorry, Logan."

"Look; Duncan was killed with that weird poison... can't remember its name. Delayed onset, rapid death; it's rare, expensive and near impossible to get legally. So this meant that whoever killed him would need to be rich just to get it, right?"

"Probably."

"Look, Keith," I said. "What made you think Aaron had done it? I told you about what he did to me, and I still think he did it, but... what's the direct connection there?"

He shrugged. "None really, but it seems a logical connection: man with a history of violence, boy he sort of knew found dead on his property... That can't be a coincidence."

"But why?" I asked. "What motive would my dad have to kill _Duncan_?"

"You said Duncan knew about the abuse," said Keith. "You sure he wouldn't try and pull something off, try to help you?"

"If he was going to..." I wanted to say that if he was going to do something about my abuse, he would have told me. But somehow I wasn't so sure. For a couple of weeks before he died, Duncan was acting pretty weird – secretive. He wouldn't tell me what was going on. I thought he'd get over it and tell me eventually; that was just what we _did_ with secrets. But then he died, so that plan was kind of screwed.

"Logan?" Keith jolted me back to reality.

"Sorry, just... I don't think he would have done something about... _that_, without telling me," I explained. "Then again, he could have just been going to tell me... Didn't get time..."

I remembered the week before Duncan died.

"_Okay, dude. The moodiness, the avoidingness, the barely talking... what's going on?" I asked, hint of actual concern under a flippant tone._

_Duncan tried to brush it off with a laugh, but it came out seeming fake. "Nothing's going on. Just your paranoid dedication to annoying me."_

"_I know you. DK, you are not telling me something. You make BFFL Logan cry," I said with a mocking pout. Duncan rolled his eyes at me._

"_If there was something going on, I'd tell you."_

"_Well, yeah; but not for months and until after you'd suffered a major nervous breakdown. You're a douche that way."_

What was he not telling me?

"I don't think he was being Mr. Honest '03 before he died," I said.

"Well, I remember the statements we got from the rest of the Kanes – I think this was... secret fun, for the whole family."

I cocked an eyebrow.

"They were evasive," Keith elaborated. "Particularly Lilly. I knew they weren't telling me everything they knew..."

"Well, Lilly's about the only person in Neptune, bar us, who didn't wind up believing Veronica killed him," I said. "Maybe she had a bit more of a clue about what happened?"

Keith sighed. "Maybe. I'm not sure of much, Logan; if you came here looking for a special sudden insight..."

"I know. I just... Needed someone to tell me _something. _I've been waiting all my life to make this son of a bitch pay for some of the shit he wrought; I need to do something about it now."

"Logan-" Keith hesitated part way through his sentence. "What if Aaron didn't do it? Violent nature, on his property, _possible_ motive... This is all pretty circumstantial."

"I know," I said. "I kind of hope it was him, mostly because I don't want the whole world treating me like and ungrateful attention-whoring piece of shit for the rest of ever. That probably makes me selfish, but whatever. But even if it wasn't him, whoever it was is still out there. I'd kind of like to shred them into thins strips and feed them to wild dogs."

Keith looked understanding as I stood up and headed for the door. "I'll see you, Logan," he said.

I turned back to him for a second. "Have you... You know, heard anything from Veronica?"

He winced and shook his head. "No. If I had, Logan, you know I would have told you."

I shrugged. "Yeah. Wasn't expecting you to know anything; last ditch effort, really. See you."

And I left.

* * *

"Listen up, patriots," Mrs. Murphy was droning to a bored looking audience, including me. "This week is Woody Goodman's Freedom Essay Writing Competition; and you are all required to place an entry. The winner receives a one week internship at the mayor's office – which means an opportunity to learn about civic affairs, a plum entry on any college applications, and – the only one I think this class will be interested in – the opportunity to stand on live TV and push the plunger for the demolition of old Shark Field Stadium."

_Nuke the stadium?_ I'd admit, it sounded cool. Not that I'd ever write well enough to win, but still. Cool.

I looked around the class, and realized – I didn't actually have to win. I could just crib by essay off a movie or some shit; _Easy Rider_ had a lot of good stuff on freedom. No-one'd actually notice.

Entry for college application (to get me out of this town), blowing shit up, week out of this hellhole school – what could possibly go wrong?

I was an idiot.

* * *

I "worked" (ie. tried to make my stealing seem plausible) for a while, until it was done. The day they announced the winner eventually happened, and Mrs. Murphy stood before us with a smile.

"Okay, the big day has finally arrived. And the winner, of Woody Goodman's Freedom Essay Writing competition is... Logan Echolls!"

I saw the people around me glare – what right did I have to win something? I just smirked. "Did somebody say my name?"

The actual English class went on after that, although people were still glaring at me like I had no right to win. Which i kind of didn't, given I cheated, but they didn't know that.

The bell rang and I heard people laughing at me – like that was news. I wound up confronted by (unsurprisingly) Dick Casablancas, with little brother Beaver (long story; poor guy) by his side.

"So, great. They want to put you with another rich guy people like. Let's see how long it'll take you to try and wreck _his_ reputation for no good reason this time?" Dick said. I raised an eyebrow.

"Was that... meant to be a joke?" I asked. I saw the color starting to drain from Beaver's face.

Dick snorted. "Well, after the shit you said about your dad, you'll have to work _pretty hard_ to make this one better. Hmm, let's think. Well, you could say he touched you a different _way_ to Daddy Dear-"

"Dick!" exclaimed Beaver, in a distinctly clipped tone. A little bit of nausea swelled in my stomach – my thoughts traveled back to Shelley's party, no matter how hard I wished them not to. "Leave him alone, okay?" said Beaver, avoiding my eyes.

Dick looked annoyed. "Dude, it's just a joke," he said.

Beaver tugged him by the sleeve a little. "Come on man, let's just go."

Dick gave an exaggerated shrug, and they left. Beaver didn't look back at me as they walked away.


	4. Of Mice and Men

**LUCK HAS NOTHING**

**4: Of Mice and Men**

I had chemistry the week before my internship at the mayor's. We got separated into our official partners, and went about doing chemistry things. Peter wouldn't look me in the eye, for some reason, but I didn't ask why.

"So," he said in a distinctly flat tone. "I heard you one the mayor-interning-nuke-stadium thing."

I nodded. "Yeah. I'm not sure why everyone cares so much."

Peter didn't respond, and focused a little harder on the apparently suddenly fascinating surface of the bench. I raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you okay?"

He tore his head up so fast I thought he'd get whiplash. "I'm fine," he said defensively. I didn't quite believe him, but decided not to press the issue. It was probably none of my business anyway.

We went on with our experiment – we couldn't get it to work in accordance with long-held scientific principles; somehow I doubted we were secretly discovering the secret of the universe, and not just getting it wrong. The class ended eventually, and Peter still wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Be careful," I heard him mutter. I froze in confusion and he looked at me again. There was something stricken in his face, and I couldn't understand it. I didn't want to see that look on his face; that look on _anyone's_ face. There was something familiar about it, and I couldn't say why.

* * *

I arrived home to find Trina with packed bag, wide grin on her face. "What is it, big sis?" I asked. "Running away to Amsterdam?"

She shook her head, and turned so I could see the foundation she had smothered her face with – hiding the bruises. "Nah," she said. "Dad called. He wants me to come home. So... I'm going," she shrugged. My good mood died.

"You... _cannot_ be serious," I said. She looked a little taken aback.

"What?"

"Trina," I said. "Look in a mirror. You're still playing cake-face from what he did to you; you really want to go back to that house?"

She bit her lip and looked away from me. "It was this one thing. I was being pretty bad with the con; he lost his temper. We both fucked up," she was trying to affect a flippant tone, but somehow it wasn't quite working. "He feels guilty, he wants me to come home. He said it won't-"

"Happen again, I know," I said. "It will, Trina. Look at me. It's been over a year and you can still see the scars on my back; when he starts, he doesn't stop."

Her eyes narrowed and her posture straightened. She was getting pissed now. "Oh, come off it, Logan," she said. "You were always a little shit. So was I with that fake movie thing. I trust him; if I just keep my head down we'll be good."

I shook my head at her. "You're hopeless."

"Like you can't talk."

I let out a shuddering breath, and ran my hands through my hair, panicking. I went for a different tactic. "What does your darling boyfriend make of this?" I asked, remembering how angry and protective Jordan had sounded. The Aaron Echolls Black-Eye (TM) he had been wearing when he showed up.

Trina looked uneasy. "He doesn't like it," she admitted. "But it's not his choice. It's mine."

I looked at her sadly. "I'm not going to change your mind, am I?"

"Have you ever?"

"Goodbye, Trina."

She clasped the handle of her suitcase willfully. "Bye."

She walked out. It felt a little like a betrayal, but I wasn't that surprised.  


* * *

I lingered in Woody's office on the first day of the internship, absent-mindedly playing with a stapler. His secretary – a pretty young black woman; her plaque called her Beverly – was waiting with me, sorting through letters with french manicured nails. I was bored.

Eventually, or good mayor entered and I put the stapler down. His face fell when he saw me, but he tried to cover it up. Failed. It didn't matter; I was used to it by now.

"Mr. Goodman, your intern from Neptune High, Logan Echolls," Beverly announced me.

"Hello," I said redundantly. I stood up, and he walked over and reached across to shake my hand. "Logan; Aaron's son, right?" he said with an overly wide grin. I was still a bit pissed off at being defined by my father, but it wasn't like I expected any different.

"Yeah," I said.

"I read your essay; powerful stuff."

"Well, it came from the heart," proving my heart was kind of a cheat, but whatever. No-one needed to know that. Woody let his manic grin droop a little, to an unsettling smile – Woody Goodman was creepy; I'd always thought so – and released my hand.

"Well then," he said, reaching for a bible. "Let's make it official."

He laid it out and I rested my hand on it for a second, then I leaped back, as if scorched. "Ah! That's burns."

He laughed, and I starting taking the thing seriously. I put my hand on it properly.

"I, Logan Echolls, do solemnly swear to uphold the office of Honorary Assistant Deputy County Commissioner, to the utmost of my ability."

"I do," I said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go fire the sheriff."

Woody and Beverly laughed at that. I wouldn't get to actually fire Sheriff Lamb; dammit. "Let's save personnel changes for later, okay?" Woody said. "For now, I'd like you to help Beverly here. I need this mail sorted; she'll fill you in."

"Uh..." I couldn't really manage to put into words the fact that I really wasn't meant to be a secretary. Or maybe I was. Woody stormed out before I could ask. I looked back at Beverly, who shrugged. "Let's go, kiddo."

I sighed and sat down at her desk. "Sorry 'bout the secretary work. Our Good Mayor wants the PR without having anything for you to actually do," she explained.

"You sound like you don't like him," I said.

"He's my boss. It's like a rule."

I smiled. "He creeps me out, so I'm okay with that."

"He creeps everyone out," she muttered, and looked down. I raised an eyebrow. What was up with everyone and this guy?

"So, you get to be the enforcer of boring bullshit secretary work."

"Well, I _am_ the secretary. So suck it up. I don't make the rules, I just apply them with a helpless and defeated attitude."

"Dilbert?"

"Fits as well as anything."

* * *

It was day or two later. I had spent these days in humanity's most boring internship – I was pretty much just a second secretary; sorting, filing, et cetera. I was alone in the office, and idly searching through, bored.

I came across a rubber stamp, which confused me. I looked at it and found it had Woody's signature on it. Wow, lazy much? Who the hell can't even be bothered to write out their own signature? Still, it seemed open to letting me use it for my own interests. Woody was an idiot.

Going through the desk drawers, I found a scrap of paper. It was dated paper; from the 15th of October, 2003. Scribbled on it was a phone number and a name: _Marcos Oliveres_.

I frowned. That name seemed a tiny bit familiar, but I didn't know where from. I looked at the handwriting; large, flowy and cursive. Probably Beverly's; maybe Marcos was an ex or something like that. I didn't really care. I couldn't say what drove me to pocket the piece of paper, but it was over a year old, I doubted it would be missed.

I allowed myself to linger for a bit more, before I heard Woody come in. "Oh, hey," I said.

"Hi. You're still here."

"Where else would I be?" I asked. "Not going back to school if not strictly necessary; being at home in the middle of the day is just too depressing. No point, anyway. No-one there."

Woody looked an odd kind of plastic-sad. "I know... all your time alone... You're an extraordinary young man, Logan Echolls."

I paused. It felt a little uncomfortable, but maybe I appreciated it too. "Thanks," I said.

It was a little like being believed.

* * *

Another day or two later, I wound up in Woody's office.

"So," I said. "Half-way through this internship. Do I get a gold star?"

Woody laughed. "So, uh, are you excited about the demolish ceremony on Saturday?"

"Nervous, actually. Someone will probably have to talk me through it," I said. "Push... down, right?"

Woody laughed and wore that plastic grin of his, the one that looked like it was going to split his face it two. The one that made him seem like he was made out of wax.

"Only real problem is, if I get pelted down with rotten tomatoes before I get to press the button," I said and shrugged. Woody let out a little 'hmm' noise. My irritation brewed, and I let myself offload a little:

"Of course, I'm the bad guy in this whole situation. No-one could ever second-guess dearest Aaron Echolls; no, clearly it's all my fault. You know, let's look for some good rationalizations for those scars all over my back; make it a good day to bury bad news," I vented, then I noticed Woody staring at me oddly. "Uh... sorry to dump all that on you."

He took a long moment before responding. "Show me," he said.

I blinked a few times; chill settling in my skin, and my brain stubbornly refusing to comprehend the sentence. "Wait, what?" I asked. He stood up and moved towards me; my instincts told me to move away, but I stayed frozen.

"The scars. On your back. Show me them; let me see if it's true or not," he explained, but it rang false. I felt him turn me around and I wanted to run, but I stayed steadfastly deer-in-the-headlights. I could feel his hands – large, dry, rubbery – lifting the hem of my shirt and I felt nauseous. I couldn't understand what was happening; all my brain would allow me to process was _bad._

"It's okay," I heard him whisper, allegedly-comfortingly. "I just want to help you. See if you were telling the truth about your father," he said, and ran a finger over one of my long scars – from just below the armpit to the waist. I shivered; some part of me said I was being pathetic, frozen like this. The dark part of me said frozen was better than unconscious on the bed, and my nausea grew.

I realized Woody was tugging at the waistband of my jeans and the disgust-and-fear spell broke; I ripped away from him and pulled my shirt back down in a rush. I saw him look at me with wide eyes, as if he was thinking _What? What did I do wrong?_

"Logan?" he asked, as I pulled my arms towards myself. What the hell had just happened?

"I should – I should go," I managed to stammer out, as I pulled on my clothing harder to make sure I was covered. Then I turned and stormed out the door; I barely managed not to sprint away.

"Logan!" I heard him call out as I ran, but I didn't care. Soon I was out the door and in the car-park; trying to locate the shape of my yellow X-Terra – I found it in the nice spot I got to steal from Sheriff Lamb; ha, you bastard. I wrenched the door open and climbed inside, trying to school my breathing and keep calm.

On the long list of things I'd been through, this wasn't that bad. It was just new. I was panicking and I knew it; what happened hadn't even gone that far. Maybe Woody really did just want to know the truth about my scars, but somehow I doubted it. Tears were faintly pricking at my eyes, but I shut them down. This wasn't worth crying over.

But my mind was filled with thoughts of Shelley's party; the feel of a roofie and my unconscious body; that anonymous bastard lifting my shirt and feeling those scars just like Woody had and then-

I shut my eyes; I didn't even want to think the end of that sentence. Words occurred to me: _be careful._ Peter had tried to warn me; he hadn't at all been okay with this internship plan. At least I had someone to ask for advice, then.

* * *

I had to look up where Peter actually lived in the phone-book, and wait until he would actually be there, but still. The extra time allowed me to calm down a little, and even wonder if this was a really bad idea. It probably was, but it felt like something I had to do.

I rang the doorbell, and was greeted by a pudgy, dirty, three-quarters drunk man. Peter's father, I guessed. "What is it?" he said.

"Is Peter here?" I asked, not bothering with manners anymore than he had.

He groaned. "Oh, don't tell me. Little fag dragging one of his ass-bandit buddies into my house; the fucker."

My stomach churned unfairly, given my circumstances for being here, but I affected my trademark mocking smirk anyway. "Wow, someone didn't march in the pride parade. And no, by the way. I just... need to talk to him."

"Dad, what is it?" I heard Peter say from behind us, snidely. I looked at him, and he blinked. His face was a mix between concern and confusion. "Logan?" he asked.

"Hey, Peter," I said slowly. "Can I talk to you?"

"Come in," he said, and I walked past his father, who rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. I followed Peter to his room, uncomfortable.

"So... what is it?" Peter said, sitting on his bed. I leaned against the wall and held my arms close to my body.

"You, you told me to be careful. About Woody," I said, then hesitated. Peter bit his lip. "Look, something... weird happened."

"What?" he asked, tone flat.

I took a deep breath. "Okay... It started because he asked to see, y'know, my scars. From my dad," I had never checked to see if Peter actually did believe me about those scars or not, but it wasn't that important at the moment. "But then... you know; he started rubbing my back and creepy shit. So I bolted," I said. Peter nodded.

"Doesn't surprise me," he said. His tone sounded broken, but he was clearly trying to hide it.

Sighing deeply, I pried myself from the wall and sat next to him on the bed. "What did he do to you?" I asked.

Peter paused for a long moment. "I played for his Little League team. Back when I was just, what, eleven? Twelve? Anyway... Turned out, he had a slightly different definition of 'playing' with us boys there," he explained, and I watched as his shoulders went up a little, as if some weight had been lifted.

It took me a while to respond. "I'm sorry," I said. What else what there to possibly say to that? "Were there... you know, others?"

"I warned you for a reason, didn't I?" he replied. "There were plenty of us. I only know a couple by name; actually who they are."

I bit my lip and reached into my pocket, handing Peter the scrap of paper from before. "I found this, when I was at the office. It might not even be relevant, but..." I trailed off when I saw Peter flinch at that name. "He has something to do with it, doesn't he? Was he-"

"One of us?" Peter cut me off. "Yeah. Yeah he was."

I hesitated. "Are... are you, you know, going to do something about it?" I phrased that question as non-judgmentally as I could, to avoid the hypocrisy in it.

"Logan. Look. Woody Goodman: mayor, well-respected, fucking loaded. Me: poor, annoying fag. Who do you think they'd believe?"

He had a good point. He continued: "I... I was considering it before. I thought, if I could get the 09er on our side... but then, you happened. You proved something to me. Can't take a man like that down after all."

I shuddered a little; unfairly feeling like a burden. "Gee. Aren't I a special snowflake?" I asked, and paused. "09er?"

"He'd kill me if I told you who he was," Peter said. I accepted that. "I'd probably have never have gotten him to help me anyway. It doesn't matter."

I nodded. "Yeah. He... whoever... probably none of my business."

Peter was now staring at a slightly chipped spot of paint on his wall. "So," he said.

"So," I replied.

There was nothing else to say.

* * *

Unfortunately, I still had a good amount of my internship left to go. I avoided Woody whenever I could, and he seemed more than willing to let the whole thing slide. He seemed almost scared of me – of what I knew.

Beverly avoided my eyes too, and I looked down at the piece of paper I was still carrying. Beverly's girly handwriting. Marcos Oliveres. October 15th. Right after Keith lost his job; right after Neptune proved how it had loved it's rich men. I didn't know the guy, but I knew how he related, and I bet Beverly had known too.

"You don't like him much, do you?" I asked in a flat tone. "Woody?"

She gave me a bemused smile. "Didn't we have this conversation, just like, a few days ago?"

I sighed, and held the paper tighter. "Who's Marcos Oliveres?" I asked. Her smile fell and she looked down to the floor. "No, don't answer that. I already know."

"We both... after you... you can't take a man like that down," she half-concluded. Then she looked back up at me: "I don't make the rules. I just enforce them with a helpless and defeated attitude."

* * *

The demolition ceremony was less fun that it ought to be, but that had something to do with being in the proximity of a known – if only to a select few – child molester. I really just wanted to get this over with.

I heard Woody making some sort of speech about the history of Shark Field Stadium; I didn't care. I looked at the building I got to destroy. It would be cool.

Eventually, Woody finished and I took the plunger. The crowd was still looking at me skeptically – they did not like me – but I ignored it. I pressed down, and watched as the stadium started to implode. Cool.

There was a sort of power in it; in destroying this thing. But I looked at Woody smiling at the cameras, and remembered who I was. People like me – me, Peter, Beverly, whoever Woody got his hands on – didn't get the power. We got to be the victims, as a evil son of a bitch got to run rampant, because we weren't going to start a war we couldn't win and suffer the casualities.

Just another day in Neptune, then.


	5. Another Day in Paradise

**LUCK HAS NOTHING**

**5: Another Day in Paradise**

Time passed, October turned into November, etc. My life pretty much fell into its usual routine. Peter and I didn't talk about what had happened; I mean, what was there to say? I hoped he would be okay, but it wasn't my place to pry.

One day, I was surprised to find Meg Manning sitting with me at lunch. "Meg?" I asked her.

"You always sound so surprised to see me," she said. "What am I, dead?"

"Popular," I replied. She nodded at that.

"Oh well. Everyone knows I'm too damn nice, so they only have raised eyebrows when I try and hang out with you," she said. I furrowed my brow.

"I'm not sure, but I don't think that's a compliment."

"I don't really thing that passes judgment on you at all," she said with a dismissing wave of her hand. There was a pause, and then she leaned forward. "Listen, it's Lilly's birthday in a few days."

"I know. I spent enough time losing my mind over that girl; I remember her birthday," I said.

"You should come. To her party."

I blinked a few times. "You are... kidding, right?"

Meg shook her head. "No. Come on. You shouldn't have to run and duck your head all the time, besides, the people at those parties tend to be _really_ annoying," Meg explained.

"Okay, in case you haven't noticed this? People at those parties, tend not to like me. Lilly really doesn't like me. Think I might get a bad reaction?" I was trying not the think of the last time I gatecrashed one of their parties; it wasn't really working.

Meg rolled her eyes. "Maybe that's _why_ you should come. Just to piss them off; make them uncomfortable," she said with a wry smile. I considered the possibility.

"Well, when you put it like that..." I trailed off. Her smile was growing, and okay, yeah, I was in. "Fine, fine. But just because it'll piss everyone off."

"Thanks," she said. I felt everyone staring at us, but she didn't leave.

* * *

It wasn't until I was actually at the party that I remembered what a bad idea it was to actually come. I could feel them all staring at me, and it made me feel like a museum exhibit even more than usual. Of course, the last time I went to one of these parties, I was drugged and raped in the guest room, so you could guess how glad I was to be back. Plus there was the uncomfortable reminder of what happened on Lilly's last birthday; Veronica. Why oh why did I let Meg talk me into this?

I, thankfully, ran into Meg quickly. "Logan, hey!" she said and enveloped me in a big hug. I hugged back, although I saw her boyfriend Cole giving me a dark look.

"Hey," I said. "So, really starting to regret this already. Why did you have to talk me into this?"

"Because I live to torment you," she said. "No, I just want someone here who I'm not going to get really annoyed with by the end of the night."

"Oi," said Cole from behind us, and Meg laughed.

"Sorry sweetie. I meant apart from you," she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

"You better," he said jokingly and pulled her in for a chaste kiss. I smiled. They were sweet.

"Okay, I'll... see you later," I said. I kind of knew wandering off alone at this party couldn't be a good idea, but for some reason, dealing with them and their sweetness seemed too damn hard. So as long as I stayed wary of any mysterious drinks, I was pretty much in the clear.

I didn't mean to run into Lilly, Dick, the whole core 09er group. I'll admit, I wasn't too glad to find them with Lilly on Dick's lap, sucking on his neck. Weird. Madison would be pissed. The sting was so distant now for me; I knew who Lilly was – slut and bitch – and I couldn't be bothered to be hurt by it.

"Dude. Logan," said Dick, and Lilly turned her head in surprise.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she asked, not disguising her contempt in the slightest.

I shrugged. "Meg's idea, not mine, she talked me into it. Really regretting it already."

Lilly gave me a mocking smile. "Then... why don't you fuck off? Think of that, Logan?"

"I was considering it," I said, and Lilly returned to sucking at Dick's neck like it was candy. I was pretty sure Dick wouldn't take like candy. "Where's _Madison_," I said, stressing his girlfriend's name so they could distinctly see my moral disapproval.

Lilly rolled her eyes, and turned back to me. "Guest room. Passed out."

"Bitch couldn't hold her liquor," Dick dismissed. "Now would you piss off already? 'Cause seriously, your ex is doing things that..."

"Dick," Lilly warned in a low voice. My stomach churned a little, but I tried to ignore it.

"Well, I'm sure she'll be glad to hear how well her friends treat her when her back is, metaphorically, turned," I said. I didn't like Madison Sinclair much, but it was nice to see them squirm.

I wandered away then, as per instructions. I set myself up a few feet from the beer, and sheltered. For some reason, Beaver eventually wandered into view. I shrugged to see him.

"Hey Logan," he said.

"Hey."

There was an awkward silence; I don't think either of us really knew what the point to this conversation was. "Sorry about, you know, _them_. I think you know well enough by now that it's like, a genetic predisposition to treat everyone else like shit. You're the test monkey; sorry."

"Doesn't matter that much," I said. "Why are you here talking to me anyway?"

"Because, again, they're drunk and assholes and I am _beyond_ fucking sick of it."

"Ah."

There was another uncomfortable pause, and it did seem odd that Beaver was talking to me – or venting at me, whatever. Most of the time, he just went along with whatever Dick said. That was even before my whole mess happened.

"Listen, you want a drink or something?" he asked, and irritatingly, my mind's first reaction was screaming and panic and _no no no!_ I forced it to calm down. Beaver wasn't like that. Well, probably not. I wasn't exactly going to take a chance, though.

"Why, you sir; you done tryin' ta take advan'age of me!" I joked, vaguely _To Kill A Mockingbird-_esque. It let out some of my issues too. Beaver laughed, but I swore he was blushing at the same time.

"What the hell kind of accent was that meant to be?" he asked, and I shrugged.

"Southern? Ish?"

"Wow; I'd like to see how bad it gets when you're actually drunk."

"Dude, shut up," I said. Things went strangely quiet again, a pensive look settling on Cassidy's face.

"Hey, Logan?"

"Yeah?"

"You won Woody's essay contest thing, right?" he asked. I shuddered. That whole week had proven bad, but completely useless, so I didn't want to think about it again. Especially at another 09er party. Occasionally, I just had moments where I realized the world hated me and this was one of those.

"What of it?" I asked, keeping my voice flat. Beaver shrugged.

"No reason," he replied breezily. "Just wondering. You know, what it was like."

I wasn't going to tell him the truth – how could I? Trying to take one evil son of a bitch down for their evil-son-of-a-bitch-dom hadn't gone down well with the 09ers; I doubted it would work any better with the Beav, even if he was talking to me like an actual human being. "Boring," I said. "The whole thing was bullshit PR anyway. I was pretty much just a second secretary. Plus, nuking stadium – kinda cool."

There was an odd, foreign smirk on the Beav's features and it scared me a little. He wouldn't meet my eyes. "See you later, Logan," he said as he wandered off, and I allowed the details of the conversation to fade from my mind. I realized, with some surprise, that I had an actual talk with an 09er that wasn't Meg or, you know, myself, who didn't treat me like a vast pot of nuclear waste mixed with corrosive acid and carbon monoxide. Wow.

I stood there, unobserved, for a little. I eventually noticed Mercer; thin sheen of sweat over his brow, coming to get a beer.

"Hey," I greeted.

Mercer blinked a few times to see me, but didn't seem offended at the sight. "Hey Logan," he said. "In simple terms – what the fuck are you doing here?"

I smiled a little. "Meg's idea. Not mine. No _idea_ how I let her talk me into it."

"Those damn blondes get you every time, huh?"

"More or less," I replied. Lilly, Veronica, Meg... seemed accurate.

"I've seen your sister," Mercer said. "She seems okay. Bruising's mostly gone; she doesn't talk about it. She's hanging all over my brother again; god, they make me sick."

I was a little grateful to know Trina was okay – vapid, bitchy, shallow; that was her. "Thanks," I said. "She told me Jordan wasn't so great when she wanted to move back to the family house."

"He really wasn't. He still isn't. I swear your dad will be found dead and cut to pieces in a ditch, any day now."

"Won't see me crying."

Mercer laughed. "Yeah. But dammit, you cannot come between that girl and her daddy complex."

I nodded. "That sounds like Trina."

Mercer gave me an odd look. "It must be hard for you," he said soberly. I shrugged.

"I mean," he continued. "All this time. Alone. Abandoned. A laughing stock. Whether what you said was true or not – which it pretty obvious was, but – it kinda seems like a recipe for disaster."

"I guess," I replied. I couldn't say why Mercer Hayes was having this conversation with me; maybe it scared me a little.

"I mean, if something bad happened to you – what could you do? No-one would see it, if you were alone. You'd never get to talk about it; no-one would believe you. No-one would talk to you comfort you or any crap like that... what would you do?"

My face when pale and I thought of that night again – I couldn't stop it; couldn't beat it down. I suddenly found I had collapsed on the floor, dry heaving.

"Whoa," said Mercer, kneeling down beside me. "You okay? You didn't seem that drunk..."

I nodded, but my throat refused to work for a few seconds. I swallowed to make it. "Yeah. I'm fine, I should just... go..."

I walked away quickly, and poured into my car. One of these days, I was going to stop freaking out at every little thing. Not today, obviously, but – I had my issues.

But hey, three 09ers had proven themselves possibly-having-souls, at least in regards to me. That was interesting.

* * *

It was a few weeks after the party when I suddenly started hearing about the purity test. It seemed like something I would have been interested in before Duncan died. I wouldn't have done it myself; I just would have stared curiously at everyone else's. Now, I had given up on caring about them. So _constantly hearing everyone talk about it_ was kind of starting to piss me off.

Like that chemistry class, for example. I heard one girl snidely going on to her friend; "Come on? Why won't you tell me? What did you do? Is it that bad? Come on, I just want to know. I told you my score; 82. Come on, why won't you tell me?"

"Maybe it's the creepy lesbian-undertones obsession with her sex life that's freaking her out?" I turned around to say. "Now shut up; you're pissing me off."

The annoying girl looked offended. "Like you can talk," she said with a look to my chemistry partner.

I rolled my eyes. Peter made a vaguely disgusted face, and said "Ew."

The girls returned to their vapid chatter, as I lifted a beaker to pour. "Everyone really does think we're fucking, huh?"

He shrugged. "It's not our fault. I'm gay and everyone hates you; they have to think things like that."

"Ah," I said. "I am so fucking tired of hearing about that stupid test, though."

"Same," he said. "I don't need a stupid web program to tell me... what, exactly that I don't already know?"

I shrugged. "Maybe this school is secretly populated by the brain damaged. It would explain a _lot_."

Something awkward settled in the air, before Peter spoke again, quietly. "'Sides, then there's all that stuff you wouldn't really be sure whether to count 'cause..."

He trailed off, I didn't need the sentence completed. He shook his head. "I probably shouldn't have said that."

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yeah. Relatively,"

And we let class go on as normal.

* * *

The next day, I managed to find out whoever was running the purity test website, was now selling the results for ten dollars a pop. It seemed kind of like a betrayal of trust to me, but oh well. It was kind of fun to see the chaos when the hoards of shallow, judgmental 09ers were running around screaming at each other for the things they did – lots of sleeping with friends' significant others, I noticed that.

At least, it was until I noticed Meg, on the edge of tears, desperately trying to clean a "48" off her locker while Cole read out "her" purity test.

"Have you ever slept with someone who spoke a language you didn't know? Yes. Have you ever had a fling while on vacation? Yes again," he said. Meg's hand was shaking a little with anger. "Do you lie to protect your reputation?"

"I'm not lying," she said, as if she couldn't quite believe this was happening. "I didn't even _take_ the stupid test."

"So... what? It just popped up out of nowhere?" he asked. She shook her head.

"I – I don't know; I guess someone just... I don't know; posted a fake one?"

Cole gave a bitter, humorless laugh. "Well, that's convenient," he said as he started to walk away. "You made a joke of me," he told Meg, who focused a little harder on scrubbing the shiny metal of her locker. Cole was gone, so I felt free to approach.

"Meg?"

"Hi, Logan," she said, not really looking at me.

"You okay?"

"Not particularly, no," she said, before turning to me and looking a little like she was regretting what she had said. "I'm sorry, just, this mess... I didn't even _take_ the stupid test, you know? I would do those things... You believe me, don't you?"

"Meg. You are one of the last good people at this school. I would believe cartoon birds braided your hair this morning," I said, and she smiled. "So. What are we going to do about catching the bastard who posted that fake score for you?"

Before we could really get far with that plan of ours, we noticed Lilly and Madison heading towards us for the obligatory bitching. Great.

Lilly gave the half-gone number on Meg's locker a surprised look. "Okay. Can't say I saw that one coming. Always the sweet ones after all," she said.

I sighed, and gritted my teeth. "Lilly, fuck off. You can wait a few hours before starting with your usual shit."

"As opposed to yours, obviously," she said. "What's the deal Logan? You move fast. Seriously, Meg might be a slut, but she's got some taste."

"As opposed to you, obviously," I said. Then I blinked a few times to focus on Madison's eyes quickly darting around the corridor, head turned down, as she fidgeted with her clothing. She wasn't paying attention. That wasn't like her; since when did Madison Sinclair miss out on opportunities to torment people for no reason?

"Hey – Madison?" I asked.

Her head snapped up in a millisecond. "What, Logan?" she said in one of the most contemptuous voices I had heard in my life – there was the Madison we knew and loathed.

"Nothing. Just checking you were still on planet Earth with us," I said. I blinked a few more times at her. "You changed your hair."

It was a slightly lighter blond, and an inch or so shorter. I saw something flash through her eyes, but whatever it was, she pushed it back down quick.

"Whatever, who cares?!" she said, tone getting a little more passionate than necessary. I shrugged.

"Just pointing it out; chill. Though, I kinda have advice – you might want to take a look at Lilly's test, if you're so worked up over Meg's – at least if it was after her birthday party; y'know?"

Madison's face went pale and she roughly grabbed Lilly by the arm.

"Ow!" went Lilly.

"Let's go," said Madison, snarling at me and practically dragging Lilly off. Lilly, Meg and I shared looks of confusion.

"Okay. What's up with her?" I asked, facing their retreating forms. Meg shrugged.

"I don't know. Never seen Madison like that before..." Meg said, biting her bottom lip. She sighed. "Do they actually think _we're_ going to..." she blushed part-way through the sentence. I laughed, and shook my head.

"I doubt it. If I was actually fucking all the people they said I was, I'd probably wind up contained in quarantine for my sheer number of STDs. Don't worry about it," I said. Her blushed deepened a little, but she smiled.

"So," I said. "About that making a bastard pay thing?"


	6. Recovery Effort

**LUCK HAS NOTHING**

**6: Recovery Effort**

Big problem with my plan to make a bastard pay for hurting Meg: I had no idea how to do so. Crap.

"Okay," I told her over the plastic table at lunch. "My many years of watching detective movies have taught me... pretty much nothing. But I think we should look at who would actually want to do this."

Meg nodded along with me. "Okay," she said. "But, y'know, I can't really think of anyone who'd want to..."

I sighed. "Well, that's unhelpful." I paused for her to laugh. "Okay, to post the thing from your account, they'd have to have your password – right?"

"...I guess?"

"Can you think of anyone else that could possibly know it?"

Meg hesitated and bit her lip, and after a long moment I clicked my fingers in her face. "Yoo-hoo, Meg? There was a question?"

"I... okay, maybe my sister Lizzie would know it. But, I mean, we're close, and with... I just don't think she'd do something like this to me, that's all."

I nodded. "Well, you know what they say. The people you love let you down."

* * *

I found Lizzie lingering in the hallways at lunch. "Logan Echolls, hi," she said, face twisting in a confused half-smile. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Funny story, actually, Lizzie," I said. "You know that thing where your sister has been publicly humiliated for things we both know she wouldn't do? Yeah, it's kind of about that."

Lizzie's smile faltered. "No way. She cannot seriously be accusing _me_ of this."

I shrugged. "She doesn't want to believe it – I do. Possibly just my major family issues, but she said herself you were... probably kind of the only one who could know her password. I don't have a lot of room to work with her.

I saw Lizzie shudder in rage. "I can't believe this," she said, before hesitating and letting out a short bark of a laugh. "Wait a second, I can and I do. Why am I even surprised?" she asked. "And no, I didn't cause this mess with the purity test. Like it matters. Go on blaming me Echolls – I get blamed for everything else."

I watched her sashay away from me with a firm expression on her face, and I still didn't trust her. Maybe I felt a little sorry for her.

* * *

When I met back up with Meg the next day, she was angrier than I expected. Given this was Meg, it only really translated as a slightly annoyed expression, but still.

"Why, I always like to start the day with a hot, passionate blonde waiting on my every move," I said, and saw her eyes roll.

"I wouldn't talk like that Logan. Obviously it's just a prelude to us running off to have hot monkey sex," she said bitterly. I blinked.

"Hasn't gotten any better?"

She shook her head. "Nah. Oh, and by the way, could you _try_ not to piss my sister off like that? She pretty much took my head off."

I shrugged. "Hey, prime suspect in the purposely-destroying-your-reputation thing. Thought you might appreciate a hand."

Meg sighed. "You find anything out?"

"She denies it; we have no real proof one way or another. This square one place it starting to get kind of old, don't you think?"

Meg hesitated. "Look, Logan... thanks for trying, and all that. But I don't think..." she took in a deep breath. "Maybe this isn't just the sort of thing you should deal with. Maybe I should just cut my losses and run, you know?"

I felt the sting of letting her down, but didn't let it showed. I raised my trademark sardonic grin. "Maybe. But you deserve to have someone on your side, Meg."

She gave me a smile, a little too wobbly around the edges. "I know. And, just... thanks, Logan," she said, affectionately gripping the side of my arm – briefly – before she walked away.

Maybe I was fooling myself to think I could ever help her.

* * *

It was a couple of days later when it was announced in homeroom, Mrs. Murphy's droning voice telling us about it.

"Our guidance counsellor, Rebecca James, has recently received a grant to study the long-term effects of grief in adolescents," she read out from her flimsy piece of paper, and I could tell this was heading somewhere bad. "Over the next week, she will be requesting interviews with those who, last year, she considered most affected by the death of Duncan Kane."

The was an obligatory, artificial moment of silence and grief at the mention of his name. The hair on the back of my next bristled, but soon our teacher was moving on to other matters, and the classroom around me became a source of vapid chatter again.

That put me in a bad mood for quite a few hours, well into when I was stalking the Neptune High grounds alone at lunch. I overheard people in my vicinity – the PCHers, who I never cared for – say my dead best friend's name, and I groaned at my bad luck.

"Just fucking typical," one of them – Felix, I think his name was – complained. "One rich, white boy carks it, and the whole fucking world's still going on about it over a year later. We drop off like flies down here, and no-one gives a shit. I mean, who noticed when old Reaper-" Felix's sentence cut off mid-way through. I felt my insides twist in rage. "Point is – it sure shows where the priorities lie around here, right?"

There was general murmuring of agreement, and their leader – Weevil, who I knew because he was the grandson of my family's maid – spoke up. "Tell me about it. Duncan Kane drops dead and he's a fucking hero, who gives a crap the guy probably didn't do a decent thing in his life? Hell, I saw some things – I don't think anyone could blame whoever for wanting the bastard dead."

I wasn't entirely sure how I got from point A to point B; point A being 'standing a few feet away, eavesdropping' and point B being 'repeatedly punching Weevil in the face very hard.' I heard his head crack against the pavement as I held him down with the arm I wasn't using to hit him, feeling satisfied at the sight of blood dripping out of his nose. Weevil wasn't going to just lie there and take it, and he was bigger than me, so with a few solid punches on his side, we were on more even ground.

I barely noticed the sensation of blood on my face, or the wind rushing out of my lungs, until I could feel Coach Preppernau pulling me off the bastard, while I continued to snarl.

"The... _fuck_?!" Weevil announced loudly, and I was in no state to answer.

* * *

I was, unsurprisingly, sent to Vice Princpal Clemmons office. I watched him tap a pen on his desk, while I leaned back in the opposing chair.

"So," he said. "You want to explain to me what that fight was about, Logan?"

I shrugged, and decided the simple truth would work best. "He was saying shit about my dead best friend; I got pissed; I pummeled him."

"So you were defending Duncan?" Clemmons asked, not able to conceal his raised eyebrow.

"Well, given he's been dead for over a year now, I didn't think he'd do such a great job of defending himself," I bit back. There was an awkward pause.

"So, how long are you people exiling me?" I asked. Clemmons sighed.

"I think, due to the circumstances, we can let you off without suspension. Consider yourself warned, Logan," he said harsly, but I couldn't help but smile. Clemmons was annoying, and kind of a douche at times, but fair. Usually.

"Okay then."

"I think... given your relation to the deceased Duncan Kane, it would be appropriate to schedule your session with Ms. James soon? Tomorrow, fifth period, perhaps?"

I nodded, a plan suddenly springing to life in my mind. "Sounds good."

That afternoon, I went to Keith's office. I could overhear the rise and fall of his voice with a client, so I waited in the chair directly opposing Carrie.

"So, you know what it is this time?" I asked her. "Not that I really care, I'm just bored. Sticky divorce, affairs, corporate sabotage?"

Carrie chewed on her bottom lip, looking a lot more nervous than I would ever expect from her. "Logan, I'm just the secretary. What exactly do you think I'll be able to tell you?"

I shrugged. "Can you at least tell me who that is?"

I saw her wince, and cocked my head to the side curiously. "Could you not ask me that?" she said, so instead, I focused on the voice of the client.

In between the bursts of Keith's harsher, stronger tone, I could hear a soft voice. Female, and gentle. She sounded like she had spent entirely too much time crying. In a second, I realized I _recognized_ that voice and my mouth went dry.

"Mom."

Carrie raised her shoulders. "Sorry?" she offered.

I barely had a moment to prepare before the door to the office swung open, and my mother stepped out in full glamor. She froze when she saw me, as if she couldn't quite believe I was real.

"Logan?" she asked tentatively. I smiled.

"Hey Mom," I said, before shooting a puzzled look over her shoulder, at Keith. The last time he, my mother and I had all been in the same place, Lynn was standing by Aaron's side as he insisted that he would never hurt his son, or his son's best friend. The press lapped it up and turned on me, and Mom never said a word in my favor.

Keith shrugged, and my mother forced an awkward smile to her face. "Well, uh, it's good to see you," she told me uncomfortably.

"Yeah."

She turned back to Keith. "Look, I know our families have... had our differences," she said, and I had to stifle a snort at the euphemism. "But I need this done. Please, treat this as you would any othr case."

Keith nodded firmly. "Of course. Good to see you, Lynn," he said, as she smiled and left. I took in a deep breath, and Keith looked down at me sympathetically.

"Sorry about that, Logan."

I shrugged. "Free country; she can go where she likes," I said, listening to the rhythmic _tap_ of Carrie's pencil on the desk.

"Listen, is there something I can do for you, Logan?" he asked, and I trailed him into his office.

"Look, Keith. There's this thing at school – our counselor is requesting interviews with the people most affected by Duncan's death."

Keith's eyes narrowed skeptically, but he nodded. "Uh-huh."

I sighed. "Listen, I think, if someone knows something they haven't told... they might be more likely to say it there. Maybe someone knows something they don't even know is important, and it's kind of a long shot, but..."

Keith shook his head. "Logan, I told you before I don't want you investigating this case. I don't think this is a good idea."

"So what, I should just sit there and behave like a good little boy?" I said bitterly.

"Logan, Aaron Echolls is dangerous. He hurt you most of his life, and possibly killed Duncan – your putting yourself at risk by investigating this, and I'm not sure it's worth-"

"He was my best friend!" I burst out. Keith just stared at me for a few seconds, as I took two deep breaths.

He raised his hands in defeat. "I'm not going to talk you out of this, am I?"

"Pretty much _no_."

"So why are you telling me about this; what do you need?" he asked. I smiled.

"Look at you, all helpful. I need one of your bugs; you know, something I can hide in the room. We'll listen in, see what they know."

Keith grimaced. "You get caught with all this, you're on your own you know. I'm going to desert and live a new life in Switzerland."

"Don't worry. I've got a cyanide capsule in a false tooth; I'll do the honorable thing."

Keith nodded. "I've got plenty in the back room," he said, before leaving the get them for me. He returned, and planted a few in my hand.

"In case one stuffs up or something," he explained.

"Thanks," I said, then paused. "Hey – what was my mom in here about, just before?"

Keith sighed. "Your father has a stalker. Threatening letters, something about last Halloween... Lynn asked me to look into it."

I raised an eyebrow. "She asked you to look into it?"

"Surprised me too. She seemed less than comfortable."

I leaned forward, idea suddenly occurring. "Wait, she wants you to look into it..."

Keith looked way. "_What_ are you thinking, Logan?" he asked. I chuckled.

"Come on. God knows how long wondering around the Echolls house, allegedly helping them? You don't smell opportunity here?" I paused. "Look. We've got to find out what happened to Duncan – I think we're the only ones who can. And if my dad really did kill him? We should take every chance we get to make the bastard pay."

Keith nodded slowly. "I guess. I'll see what I can do, Logan."

I nodded, before raising myself to leave. "Okay. Thanks, Keith."

"Logan?" he said, and I turned back around. "Be careful, okay?"

"Am I ever not?"

He laughed at loud.

* * *

My appointment with Ms. James went as well as could be expected. I was comforted by the knowledge that I had another purpose for being here, as I examined the stapler lying on her desk. I had been sent here enough times due to my 'disciplinary problems' that I could remember what it looked like, and buy a copy.

"So, Logan. How have you been?"

"_Really_ good, Mrs. J. How about you?" I over-enthused. She just raised an eyebrow.

"Do you really think you're meant to call me 'Mrs. J'? Especially when the divorce papers were finalized a month or so ago?"

I shrugged. "Not really, no."

"Ah." There was a pause. "So... after Duncan died, last year, you were inconsolable. You wouldn't open up to me, to anyone... I really hope this year you'll be able to talk about it."

I idly picked up the stapler, wrenching it's jaws open. "I know," I said quietly. "I'm just not really sure what there is to say."

She nodded. "Well, is there... something you feel you need to tell me?"

I paused. "Not really, no," I actually smiled. "Don't get all offended; it's not your fault. I'm just not so big on talking about it – it doesn't _do_ jackshit, after all."

"I'd rather you use appropriate language, Logan," she said softly. "But, why do you say that?"

I shrugged. "No matter what I say, Duncan is still dead and no-one is paying for it. Well, no-one who actually deserves to pay," I said. "I'm going feel better when someone," _Aaron_, my mind screamed at me, _Aaron,_ "Is rotting in jail – or strapped to the chair – for what they did to him."

Ms. James sighed. "Logan – I don't think focusing all your attentions on getting vengeance for his sake is a healthy way of coping."

"I'm not big on the healthy in general," I said, before very deliberately dropping her stapler on the floor. I flashed a brief apologetic look, before scooping down to allegedly pick it up – actually swapping it with the bugged one from my bag. I came back up, and placed the stapler on the bench.

"Logan, I do want to help you."

"I know. You will, trust me."

I left before she could say anything else.


	7. Damsels in Distress

**LUCK HAS NOTHING**

**7: Damsels in Distress**

I listened in on my bug over that week – it had, conveniently, a setting to keep the messages when I wasn't there to listen (because I had actual classes, which might shock you). It heard a lot of boring crap that my other, irrelevant classmates did – break-ups and exam stress and blah blah blah. None of this mattered to me.

It took a while until I found an appointment with someone who was there over Duncan's death. "Hello. I'm glad you could find the time to come speak with me."

The voice I heard reply surprised me. "It's okay, Ms. James. I'm just... coming in, like you asked," _Meg?_ What was she doing there? Sure, she had known Duncan, and liked him well enough, but they weren't particularly close. Was Meg a mess after Duncan died? I couldn't remember. Honestly, after Duncan died I wasn't paying that much attention to the rest of the universe.

"Okay, Meg," said Ms. James, in that patented comforting counselor's voice. "Do you want to talk to me, about Duncan?"

I heard Meg hesitate, and listened in closer. "Honestly, Ms. James, I'm not sure why you called me in here. I knew Duncan, but he and I weren't close and..."

The words rang false to me somehow, and I could tell Ms. James didn't really buy it either. "Really, Meg?" she asked, then paused. "I remember having you in here, after he died. You were inconsolable. You threw a lot of my stuff against the wall."

Meg hesitated, trying to come up with some kind of excuse. "Well, okay, maybe I freaked, but – I did know the guy. And then he was dead; it scared me, it hurt me, I guess."

Ms. James sighed. "Listen, I'm not really meant to do this – there are confidentiality rules, but he's dead, so I think I can wave it for now," she said, and I leaned forward toward the bug, interested. "A while before his death, Duncan came in here, talking about a friend – a female friend. He thought she was in a lot of trouble; he didn't tell me who she was, but he said he needed help to find out how to help _her_. He said he had gotten closer to her recently, and that she was in a lot of trouble – sometimes she'd just cry, and let him hold her. She never told him what was actually going on, and he was so scared for her sake."

Pause. "Does that sound familiar to you, Meg?"

Meg sniffled, and said, "Yeah." Her voice quavered on the word, and I just sat there with my mouth agape. Why hadn't Duncan told me about her? If there was one person that had taught him how to deal with fuck-ups, it was me, and he would have to know I'd want to help him – _her_ – right?

Oh god – was Meg his big secret?

"Why don't you try telling me the truth, Meg?" Ms. James said sympathetically, and Meg gave a brief, humorless laugh.

"I was so screwed up," she admitted. She took in a deep breath. "I was just... a mess. I don't even know why. Then there was Duncan. It was an accident really; I was hidden behind the gym, bawling my eyes out over nothing in particular, and he found me. Didn't ask what was wrong. Just gave me a hug and told me everything was going to be okay, and y'know what? I actually believed him."

She paused, sniffling back her tears again. "It sort of went on from there. When I was feeling like a mess, like the world was about to come crashing down on me – which was a hell of a lot – I'd just, go to him and everything would be fine. Then... he died."

"Meg, were you and Duncan romantically involved?" Ms. James asked sympathetically, and I heard the pull of a tissue out of the box.

"I wish," Meg said. "I _was_ pretty much in love with him, but he – come on, you knew him and Veronica. It would have taken elephants to rip those two apart. Then he broke up with her, and I couldn't make a move then – Veronica was my friend too, and that would be horrible to her. And two weeks later, he was dead – this is my sort of luck."

"What were you struggling with, exactly?"

I heard Meg recoil like she didn't understand the question. "W-What?" she asked.

Ms. James gulped. "Meg, Duncan was very worried about you. He thought something was wrong; you have already admitted you weren't in a good place then – do you want to talk to me about what was causing this?"

I sucked in a breath, and Meg hesitated. "Oh, no, it wasn't... It wasn't really anything in particular; you know? I was just stressed and stuff, kind of over-reacted," it all sounded false again, and Ms. James could tell it too.

"Meg, if there's something wrong, I urge you to say something about it. If you don't feel comfortable talking to me, is there another adult or staff member you'd feel comfortable talking to? Have you tried speaking about it with your parents?"

Silence.

"Meg, is there a problem at home?"

"No," Meg bit back lightning quick. Too quick. I remembered that sort of defensiveness, although obviously, I didn't bother with it anymore. "No, it's okay. I should – I should go; I have to get back to class,"

"Meg, wait!" Ms. James said, but Meg had run out before she could finish. I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding, and bit my lip. Meg Manning needed a hell of a lot more help than I had realized.

* * *

I skipped most of the not-Duncan-related conversations; they were boring and annoying – I was starting to realize that Rebecca James had one of the worst jobs in the world.

However, one of them caught my attention. "Ms. Sinclair," Ms. James said, voice frustrated and disapproving. Obviously, Madison had done something bad.

"What, Miss?" she replied in her perfect catty voice. Ms. James sighed.

"Madison, you were brought in here after you started an altercation in class." She paused before asking, "Could you tell me, in your own words, what happened?"

Madison hesitated. "I don't know... Dick was just acting like a douche again; he pissed me off, and was like... _grabbing_ me, so I just kinda shoved him away."

Ms. James sighed. "According to your classmates, what happened was that Dick was holding onto your arms, and then you slapped him and yelled 'Don't touch me.'" There was a pause.

"I overreacted?" Meg offered weakly, and Ms. James sighed.

"Madison, was there a reason you reacted like that? Your friends have been concerned about you lately – Angie came in here a few days ago, saying you were getting distant and moody," Ms. James said, and I bit my lip.

Madison snorted. "Yeah, everyone's being all big compassionate for me," she muttered bitterly.

"Madison-"

"Look, Miss," Madison said, taking in a deep breath. "I'm fine. I just acted a bit weird – you know me, I'm a crazy bitch. I don't need anyone talking to me; I don't need people asking me what's wrong. Nothing's wrong, and I'm fine," her voice quavered on that last 'I'm fine', which rather gave the whole thing away.

Ms. James sighed in defeat. "Okay. But it there is something wrong – my office is always open; you know that, right?"

"Yeah... I know that," Madison said shakily. "Thanks, Miss. I think... Can I go back to Clemmons' office now?" she asked, and left.

Ms. James eventually went on to talk to someone else, but I wasn't paying attention. Because I could remember saying things a lot like what she had said, and that whole thought just made me sicker and sicker.

"_Logan," Ms. James said as I sat uncomfortably in her cotton-covered chair. "You started a fight in your English class today."_

"_Really? Never noticed," I bit back. "It wasn't a big thing, really. The guy was saying shit, so I punched him," and I really didn't want to have to think about what that guy had said._

_She sighed. "Listen, Logan. We all know you're having a difficult time – we know how close you were with Duncan Kane," she said sympathetically, and I flinched. I didn't want him brought into this. "But this reaction... Logan, is there something you want to tell me about? Did you response to these comments because of a particular reason?"_

_I drew my arms closer to my body, and clenched one of my fists, digging the nails into my palm. If I didn't, I would just start laughing at the whole idea I was meant to tell my problems – given how badly everyone reacted last time I tried that – and it wasn't really funny._

"_No," I said. "Just, you know me, being the obligatory psychotic jackass." I paused. "I'm fine."_

I had been lying my ass off then, and I was pretty sure Ms. James could tell. I remembered what started that fight; some douche saying something about which way I swung. It wouldn't have mattered all that much, but the timing meant I was on edge. That whole fight was just a couple of weeks after I went to Shelley Pomroy's party.

I felt the bile rise in my throat, because I knew, just _knew,_ what had happened to Madison. I didn't like her, but she wasn't anywhere close to deserving that and she wasn't looking like she was going to talk about it. Of course, knowing the wonder of the 09ers, I doubted any of her friends were going to call her out on it and say something was wrong – hell, her boyfriend had been making out with her best friend while some bastard was...

I grimaced. Madison Sinclair, Meg Manning – my problems with the girls at this school.

* * *

The next one was actually Duncan relevant, as I found myself listening to the interview with what was probably the most important person in his life – Lilly Kane, his big sister.

"Hello, Lilly," said Ms. James.

"Hey, Becky," said Lilly brightly, not a lot like the girl who was trying to talk about the cold-blooded and unsolved murder of her brother. Oh well.

"It's Ms. James," she reprimanded. "You missed our last three-" she was cut off mid-sentence by the loud snap of Lilly's gum, and I heard her breathe sharply in frustration, resisting the urge to throttle. I had that problem a lot with Lilly myself. "That's very annoying."

"Sorry," Lilly replied and apparently, disposed of the gum. "So... what do we talk about?"

"Well, what do you want to talk about, Lilly?"

"In general? Because, y'know, there's this sale on down-"

"Lilly," Ms. James warned. I frowned. Why was Lilly acting like this? Yeah, she was a bitch, but if there was one thing she always cared about, it was Duncan.

"Okay, yeah, I know. But the thing is? I suck at reflection. I don't like thinking about the past much. I loved Duncan, and I miss him like hell, but talking about the whole thing is not going to make it any better. I just wanna forget the whole thing and move on; that okay with you?"

"Lilly, it's okay to have to deal with the pain. Your brother was murdered," Ms. James paused with emphasis. "You can pretend to put that behind you, but you'll have to deal with it sooner or later, and I don't think making in 'later' will help."

"I'm an in-the-moment kind of girl, Ms. James. Besides, who cares if I go all mental breakdown-y?" she said it flippantly, but there was an undertone of fear in her voice.

"Is that what you think, Lilly?"

Lilly dismissed that. "Whatever, it doesn't matter. I don't know why I came here anyway – Duncan is dead, I'm not and it's that simple. That boy was a champion of not talking about his issues; seriously, wherever he is he's probably proud."

I heard the rustle of fabric, and the sound of the conversation get muffled, as if by fabric – a bag? Wait, Lilly was stealing the stapler? Who the hell steals a _stapler_?

Ms. James sighed, not noticing this pointless kleptomania. "Okay, Lilly. But if you do not want to deal with the circumstances of your brother's death, then how do you expect to find – and I always hate using this word, but it is appropriate – closure?"

Lilly groaned. "Oh God. Miss, closure was invented by movie writers. In reality? No such thing. I don't need to do anything about this," Lilly said, and then stormed out. Irritatingly, she still had the stapler, so she had wrecked my whole plan of electronically eavesdropping on the rest of the interviews, although I didn't know who else it would be – then again, I hadn't been expecting Meg's, so maybe Duncan was keeping a couple of secrets from me.

* * *

Eventually, the bug started emitting the white noise of a car. Lilly was driving somewhere, who cared?

However, once she had stopped I heard the roar of a different engine approaching. "Hey," Lilly said, voice suddenly sounding a lot for vulnerable than she had dared to sound when talking to Ms. James. "It's good to see you."

The other person laughed humorlessly, and I frowned in puzzlement – that voice sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it without them actually talking.

"Well. Wasn't expecting you to say that one again, Lilly girl," they said and my jaw dropped. I realized whose voice it was.

_Weevil?_

He sighed. "So, what is it Lilly? How many months has it been since I actually existed, again?" he sounded bitter, and I was sort of guessing that this was not a new thing – there was something going on between them before.

She pauses. "I... I should apologize."

"Damn right you should," he said. "I loved you, then you used me up and went crawling right back to that Echolls kid – least you figured out what a shit he was."

"Weevil, please don't," Lilly whispered, much weaker than she usually sounded. "Don't talk about him, please," she said, her voice wavering. Something about this seemed wrong; why was Lilly suddenly acting broken?

Weevil chuckled. "Oh, I get it. We're coming back to Logan fucking Echolls; fabulous. Forget it Lilly," he said.

"No!" she cried out sharply, and there was no doubt in my mind that he had just tried to leave. "Please Eli, don't go. I need you."

"Really," he said dryly, sarcastically. It seemed to strike a nerve in Lilly.

"I love you!" she almost screamed. She sounded _so_ desperate; terrifyingly, heartbreakingly desperate. "I love you... Please, tell me you know that. I don't need anyone else, I don't need to be that great whore, I just... I love you Eli, I love you," she said, fading to whispers again as the sentence went on.

"Loosen your grip Lilly, you're about to suffocate me," Weevil muttered, and I heard Lilly sniffle. "Hey, what's wrong?" Weevil asked. "Lilly girl, are you crying?"

"No," she said. "Come on. I love you, I know you still love me..."

"What makes you so sure?"

"If you didn't, why would you even come here?"

"Touche," Weevil paused after that. "No, Lilly. It's not going to work. I don't know what self-validation you need me for this time, but you ripped my heart out once and I'm not giving you another chance. Sorry."

Lilly's tone went hard and cold and bleak. "What? You think I haven't changed? Do you? Do you think I'm that same girl?" she said, anger growing in her voice until she was yelling.

"How are you not?" Weevil retorted.

"Get out!" she screamed so abruptly it made me just. "Get out, Weevil, _get out_!"

A motorcycle engine roared away, and I just sat there, listening to the sounds of Lilly sobbing loudly to her own ears.


End file.
